Collective fear stimulates herd instinct, and tends to produce

Host: The city was drenched in a restless twilight, the kind that clings to the air after a long day of unspoken tension. Neon lights flickered across the narrow street, casting long, broken reflections in puddles that shivered with the faint hum of passing cars. The air smelled of smoke, rain, and something older — fear, perhaps.

Inside a half-empty bar, two figures sat opposite each other at a worn wooden table — the candlelight flickering between them like a fragile truce.

Jack’s hands were clasped, his jawline set, his eyes like steel, cold and reflective. Jeeny’s posture was calm, but her gaze was aflame with conviction, her voice when it came soft, deliberate — like the beginning of a storm.

Jeeny: “Do you know what I think, Jack? Fear is the real weapon. It doesn’t just control people — it unites them. But only against something, never for something.”

Jack: “That’s what Bertrand Russell meant, isn’t it? ‘Collective fear stimulates herd instinct.’ He saw how fear makes people huddle, cling, and then attack anything outside the circle. It’s not a weapon, Jeeny — it’s nature. We’re wired that way.”

Host: The rain outside drummed harder against the window. The world beyond the glass was a blur of movement and color, but here, time hung still — a small and trembling world of two voices searching for truth.

Jeeny: “Nature, yes. But nature doesn’t make us cruel — fear does. Look at history, Jack. Look at the witch trials. Thousands of women burned because the village was afraid — afraid of difference, of anything that didn’t fit their fragile idea of purity.”

Jack: “And yet fear kept them alive, Jeeny. You can’t separate the instinct from the survival. If you were in a burning building, you’d follow the crowd too. That’s what herd instinct is — preservation. The herd runs together because it’s safer.”

Jeeny: “Safer? Maybe. But safer doesn’t mean right. That same instinct builds wars, lynch mobs, cancel cultures, dictatorships. It turns fear into a ritual — a way to feel pure by pointing at someone else and calling them the enemy.”

Host: A sharp silence cut through the hum of the room. The candle’s flame flickered, bending toward Jeeny’s words, as if drawn to their heat.

Jack: “You’re moralizing it again. You want humanity to be something it’s not — gentle, unified, spiritual. But the truth is, we’re animals. The herd instinct is the only thing that’s kept us from tearing each other apart entirely.”

Jeeny: “And yet it’s also what makes us tear others apart. That’s the paradox, isn’t it? The herd saves itself by devouring outsiders. Jews in the 1930s. Refugees now. It’s always the same pattern — fear, unity, ferocity.”

Host: Jeeny’s voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed something — a deep, trembling sorrow. Jack leaned back, his expression hardening, but the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed discomfort, not defiance.

Jack: “You speak as if the herd can just… stop being afraid. But fear isn’t chosen. It’s inherited. It’s the echo of every ancestor who survived by running first and asking later.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe it’s time to stop running. Maybe that’s what evolution really means — not faster legs, but braver hearts.”

Host: Her words landed like stones in still water, rippling outward through the dim light. A glass clinked somewhere at the bar. The rain softened, becoming a whisper instead of a drum.

Jack: “You sound like a preacher.”

Jeeny: “No. I sound like someone who’s tired of being part of the herd.”

Jack: “You think you’re above it?”

Jeeny: “No one’s above it. That’s what makes it tragic. Even those who see it are still inside it. Look at the French Revolution — they rose to destroy tyranny, then turned on each other. The same collective fury, just redirected. Fear disguised as righteousness.”

Host: Jack sighed, the kind of sound that carried both agreement and resistance. The candle’s flame cast a moving shadow over his face — the shape of a man torn between logic and empathy.

Jack: “So what do you propose, Jeeny? If fear binds us, and logic can’t erase it, what’s left?”

Jeeny: “Courage. The kind that looks at fear instead of feeding it. Courage to stand apart from the herd — not above it, but apart. To say no when everyone else is shouting yes.”

Jack: “And die for it?”

Jeeny: “Sometimes, yes. Socrates drank the hemlock. Galileo faced the Inquisition. Mandela sat in a cell for 27 years. Every act of conscience is an act of isolation.”

Jack: “And yet most people just want to survive, not become martyrs.”

Jeeny: “Survival isn’t the same as living, Jack. The herd survives. Only the soul lives.”

Host: The bar had grown quieter now. Even the music from the back room had faded, leaving only the steady sound of the rain’s retreat. A single neon sign outside blinked, its faint buzz punctuating the quiet like a heartbeat.

Jack: “You talk about courage like it’s easy. But fear isn’t just collective — it’s personal. People fear being alone, being rejected, being forgotten. The herd gives them a name, a belonging.”

Jeeny: “Yes. And in exchange, it takes their voice. It tells them who to hate, who to love, what to believe. It gives them comfort, but it steals their truth.”

Host: A thin trail of smoke rose from the candle’s wick, curling between them like a ghost of something unsaid.

Jack: “You’re not wrong. But maybe it’s too late. The herd is the world now — online, in politics, in every comment section. People aren’t individuals anymore; they’re tribes.”

Jeeny: “And every tribe thinks it’s righteous. That’s the tragedy Bertrand Russell saw — fear doesn’t make us violent because we’re evil. It makes us violent because we’re desperate to belong.”

Jack: “So what’s the answer?”

Jeeny: “To choose belonging without hostility. To build circles that don’t need an outside to define themselves. To remember that empathy is rebellion in a fearful age.”

Host: For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Outside, the clouds began to part, and a faint light broke through, reflecting off the puddles like fragments of forgiveness.

Jack: “You think we’re capable of that? Of belonging without hating?”

Jeeny: “We have to be. Otherwise, every generation will keep finding new outsiders to burn.”

Host: Jack’s eyes softened, their coldness melting into something human. He nodded, slow and deliberate, as if conceding not just to Jeeny, but to the truth itself.

Jack: “Maybe fear isn’t the enemy then. Maybe it’s the teacher.”

Jeeny: “Only if we listen to what it’s saying — not to run, but to reach.”

Host: The candle’s flame steadied, no longer flickering but glowing — quiet, resilient. Outside, the rain had stopped entirely. The world breathed again.

As Jack and Jeeny rose to leave, their shadows merged briefly on the floor, two figures walking away from the herd, but not from humanity — just far enough to see it more clearly.

And somewhere in that fading neon light, the fear that had united so many began, at least for a moment, to lose its power.